


All the Stars in the Sky

by catstrophysics



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Alternate Universe - After College/University, Astronomy, Closeted Castiel (Supernatural), Conspiracy Theories, M/M, Questioning Dean Winchester, Slow Burn, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 13:50:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17602541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catstrophysics/pseuds/catstrophysics
Summary: Dean's a researcher working at an astronomical research base in the mountains,  and he's simply too busy to do anything else. Castiel is a student at a local graduate school, and he needs to access one of the telescopes on the site for a project at the exact same times Dean needs it. Will they sort out the tension they develop and become friends, or will their competing work keep them separate forever?





	1. Get Off My Telescope

**Author's Note:**

> The setting for this fic is roughly based around the PARI facility in North Carolina, an image of which can be found at the link below. The link isn't a virus, I promise, and it's really pretty and sorta sets the ~tone~ to me. It's a gorgeous place, and sitting up top near the smaller telescopes gave me major Destiel feels. Hence, this fic (which was originally intended to be around 500 words and I'm now making multi-chapter). Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> This is also me shamelessly talking about my favorite subjects in the world: astronomy, astrophysics (hence the username), and Destiel. 
> 
> link: https://mountainx.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/Birds-eye-view-of-PARIs-200-acre-campus.jpeg

The last sliver of golden sun slipped below the mountain crags at precisely 17:07:34, according to the _beep_ that came from the clock in the corner. Dean pulled a beaten up metal thermos of coffee from his bag and took a long sip. 

“Guess these clusters won’t observe themselves,” he muttered under his breath, swiveling the desk chair around to the clunky PC that had sat on that very desk since before the dinosaurs.  
He launched the command center, flinching as the computer fans whirred on. Lists of numbers popped up in a big white box on the screen, proof of prior tests run and prior objects observed. Dean hit a quick “select all” and deleted them, entering his own coordinates in their place. Messier 3, a big bright globular cluster in Canes Venatici was his target, and set the program to track his coordinates as the cluster panned across the sky. He set the camera, double-checked all the filters, and hit start. 

Two minutes later, a blurry grey image loaded onto the screen. It was completely unlike what the cluster should have been, like salt spilled on a black tablecloth. He reset the exposure, and tried again. Thirty seconds ticked by far too slowly, and again a grey, indeterminate image flickered onto the screen. 

Two hours later, the trash bin was full of a grand total of one hundred fuzzy stills and Dean was furious. Of all the nights for this to take three hours, it had to be tonight. 

“Friggin’ great,” he mumbled, groaning and stretching up out of the worn leather chair. “I’ve got to hike up to the optical ridge? At _night_?” he complained to the room, which offered no answer save the whoosh of the ventilation slits in the floor. He stared down at the computer monitor in annoyance for a moment, before snatching his nearing empty thermos up by the handle and striding off down the hallway. 

The gravel road crunched under his work boots with a steady rhythm, and the chilly mountain air served to cool his anger with technology on the way up to the telescope. This part of the Blue Ridge mountains was always beautiful, but when 26 East, the nearer of the twin radio telescopes that were the pride and joy of the research center, was silhouetted against the stars, Dean remembered exactly how lucky he was to work here. Even when technology refused to cooperate. The trees thinned ahead, a clearing opening up and a grey dome appearing at the edge. He approached the optical telescope’s home slowly, more from exhaustion than anything else, and flicked on the flashlight he stuck in his pocket as an afterthought before leaving. The door swung open on smooth hinges, and he was treated to the sharp metallic aroma of expensive equipment and old paint. 

“Anybody in here?” Dean whispered hoarsely, and cleared his throat. “Hullo?” 

The dim entryway remained resolutely silent. Dean proceeded further, tripping on the tangle of wires at the foot of the stairs. The first step creaked loudly, and a deep voice rumbled from the second level. 

“Who’s down there? Professor Crowley?”

Dean halted in his steps, then proceeded up to the deck where the telescope rested. Faint rock music bled through the thin plywood walls as he trod up the stairs towards the origin of the voice. He rounded the corner, and the hulking mass of the optical scope dominated the center of the cramped room as always. The computer bay’s lights blinked faintly in the corner, turned away from the lens as the light could interfere with data. 

A shock of dark hair stuck up from behind the control center, followed by brilliantly blue and exhausted eyes, then the man heaved a heavy sigh before finally rising and stretching broadly. He straightened his rumpled tan trench coat and stretched once more, raised hand knocking into the tenuous light fixture overhead and sending down a shower of sparks. His eyes flicked over to Dean, giving him a long once-over, tracking his eyes over every inch of his being before latching back onto his eyes. 

“Castiel,” he said simply, before fixing Dean with a piercing glare that cut deeper than a blade. A final shower of sparks trickled down from the lights, punctuating his sentence. 

***

Dean was stunned into silence. 

“Are you the one who kept moving the telescope away from my coordinates, making all the data I gathered useless?” The man, Castiel, stood silently observing Dean, blue eyes never flickering away but slowly growing sharper and sharper. 

“Okay, buddy, first of all, you were the one trashing my data, because I had the telescope controls reserved for tonight. Second of all, who are you, really?” Dean retaliated, as he tried to assess the strange man before him. 

“I am who I said. Castiel,” he repeated, and paused. Dean blinked at him, encouraging him to continue. The clear blue eyes flicked down to his feet for a moment, then back to his eyes. Dean shivered under the intensity of the gaze. “I’m a student at the college. Studying nebulas for my dissertation on dust in the galaxy. And you are…?” Castiel trailed off here, awaiting an answer. Dean paused for far too long, giving Castiel a thrice-over. He took in the man’s rumpled trench coat and off-kilter blue tie that were far too formal for isolated research, his piercing eyes fixated on his every movement, and matched them with an equally intense stare. 

“Dean. I work at the center. Get off my telescope.” Frankly, he was amazed this student had the nerve to keep talking. _He looks older than college, though._

Castiel smiled, but it flipped into a smirk. “Of course,” he murmured. “Clouds tonight, anyways. I’ll be here tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading it so far! Kudos and comments are my life force and therefore greatly appreciated. I'll answer comments always, they're fantastic.
> 
> Did you know? Optical telescopes, like the one Dean and Castiel are using, use different filters to detect different anomalies within stars, or to tell spectral types in star clusters (like what Dean's studying). If there's interest in this fic at all I might post a "glossary" of weird telescope things and such.
> 
> Have a great day! Tell me about your favorite Destiel fic in the comments, because there are insanely talented writers on this site and I'd love to read more. My first ever was "Cabin by the Lake," by CBFirestarter. Highly recommend.


	2. Aliens, or Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas have breakfast together, and Sammy's an alien conspiracy theorist.

Tomorrow dawned cold and rainy, the wind whipping down off the optical ridge and skipping leaves across the compound. Castiel’s mood matched the weather, and he snapped shut the dorm window with a glass-rattling push. The floor under it was puddled with a night’s worth of raindrops, and the sheets of water slashed across the window loudly. He tossed some towels down on the water, deemed it good enough, and headed up to the mess hall. The gravel path from the dorms crunched under his work boots, and he tugged the collar of his trench coat closer in. 

The coffee was hot, and that was all that mattered. Castiel gathered up three mugs’ worth and began walking them over to the little table in the corner before stopping dead. The man from last night— _was his name Dean?_ —was already there, four highlighters, three pencils, a mug of coffee, and what looked to be nearly a hundred pages straight from the Harvard astronomical archives in front of him. _Damn._

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean jolted up from his work, nearly toppling the hot coffee off the table. “Heya, Castiel, what do you need?” He smiled, far less confrontational than the night before. Castiel froze. 

“Just looking for somewhere to sit, is here taken?” 

A pause, then Dean said, “Sure,” and Castiel settled down opposite him. Dean reabsorbed himself in the archives, highlighter in hand and a furrow in his brow. Castiel took the time to really study the man sitting before him. The stormy morning sun slanting through the big windows cast shadows across his face, highlighting bone under skin and casting his five-o’-clock shadow into sharp relief. Lines of weariness etched themselves across his face, and a smattering of stars–no, wait, freckles–adorned his cheekbones. _He’s really good looking,_ Castiel thought, then shook his head. 

“Dean?” Castiel said, and waited for his eyes to turn up from the papers. 

“Ow, _fuck_ , that was–” Dean started, before glancing up at Castiel sheepishly. “Sorry, man, mouth of a sailor. Father’s the same way. _Was_ the same way,” he corrected. 

“What’re you here studying, again?” Castiel prompted. 

“Spectral types in globular clusters, ‘cause everyone thinks they’re supposed to be one way so no one’s studied it enough and it’s all just speculation but I wanna get it right, you know, and this one cluster, Messier 13, some dude studied but he got everything _wrong_ and–” he suddenly stopped, closing himself back off. “You probably don’t wanna hear all that, anyways,” he chuckled, making an effort to return to their conversation. “What do you do?” 

“I’m an astronomical imager, focusing on nebulae,” Castiel said proudly. Dean stifled a laugh.

“So you’re the friggin’ space paparazzi,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “Seriously, Cas?”  
Castiel balked at the nickname, but Dean’s earnest green eyes belied no malice and he accepted it. _He gave you a nickname_ , the voice in Castiel’s head whispered. 

“It happens to be a highly respected occupation, Dean. Anyways, the project’s taking months so I’m bunked up in Apollo. Where’re you sleeping, anyways?” 

“Right now? In my car. Baby.” He smiled dreamily at the mention of his car. 

“That must be horrid for your spine, Dean,” Castiel commented, “you should really consider moving into Apollo. There are plenty of beds right now, seeing as the alien conspiracy theorists finally went home.”

Dean stared openly. “Con—conspiracy theorists? What did they look like?”

Castiel stared at him, his sudden change in demeanor confusing to say the least. “One guy was really tall, with long brown hair and looked like a big fan of the whole ‘rugged lumberjack’ look.”

“Friggin’... Sorry, Cas, I’ve got to go call someone. Can you show me where the dorms are later?” Dean was already standing, slinging a leather satchel over his shoulder and making for the door. 

“Of course. I’ll just–” The door to the mess hall banged open and shut. “–wait here, then.”

***

Dean ran through the door, pulling out a flip phone as he went and keying in the only number he knew by heart except for 9-1-1. It rang once before picking up. 

“Hey, Sammy.” Dean smiled widely while speaking, though his little brother was thousands of miles away and couldn’t see him anyways. 

“Hey, Dean, how’re the Blue Ridges?” Paper rustled on Sam’s end, a textbook snapping shut. 

“Friggin’ beautiful, man, and there’s this guy…” _Fuck. Shouldn’t have said anything, Dean._

Sam waited a few seconds before responding, the silence heavy between them. “Any word from dad?”

Dean flinched, but answered him coolly, “Our father hasn’t spoken to me in months, and I’ve been far too busy with research to wait around the phone for him. What were you doing hanging around the base up here? I told you to stay out of it.” He sighed heavily. 

“So get this. There are _angels_ , or _aliens_ , or _something_ like that up in the woods. I swear!”

“Sammy–”

“No, Dean, I know what I saw–”

“What you saw,” Dean interjected, teeth clenched, “was nothing more than your imagination. We’re not the Ghostbusters, and this crazy fantasy of yours needs to die off. I’m a scientist, Sammy.” He snapped the phone shut. Of course it was his baby brother poking around up here, and of course Castiel had seen him. _Castiel_ , he thought. _Now there’s an interesting person_. Dean shoved the thought to the back of his mind, and set back towards the mess hall to help with cleanup, watching as the tan trench coat retreated off up the path towards the dorms. He trudged out to his car soon after, reclining the driver's seat all the way and turning up the radio to wait until it got dark enough to go back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is John alive or dead? Was Sam stalking Dean over the aliens on-site? Is Castiel just as confused about all of this, or is he oblivious?
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are still amazing, nothing's changed from last chapter. 
> 
> Song recommendations are always welcome in the comments, as well as nerding out over astronomy with me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys clash over the telescope once more, but there's less heat this time and... oh, is that sexual tension?

The sky darkened, and rather than bother trying to use the optical telescope while Castiel was hanging around up on the ridge he simply set out. _Just to talk,_ he promised himself. _Nothing but talk_. The walk up the hill took longer than usual, and the late fall air cut deep into Dean’s lungs. He’d brought a book this time, _Slaughterhouse Five_ , just in case Castiel refused to get off the telescope. The dome of the protective shell rose ahead of him, but a lantern’s glow past the ridge prompted him to walk further. A figure became just visible in the grass before him. 

“Cas?”

Castiel whipped around, knocking over the lantern in the process. “Dean?” he rumbled, deep voice warm in the cold air. “What’re you doing up here?”

“Thought I’d have to kick you off the telescope again. After all, research over pretty pictures,” he jested. 

“Mmm, too pretty out to stay in there all night. Come here with me. Let’s play ‘name the constellation.’”  
Dean shuffled over to where Castiel lay prone, settling next to him and folding his hands behind his head. 

“I’ll start?” Dean asked. Castiel nodded, and Dean began listing. “Orion. Canis Major. Canis Minor. Scorpio. Sagittarius. Libra. Um, that’s all I’ve got.” 

“Respectable. I’ll give it a go. Aquarius. Aquila. Aries. Lyra. Pisces. Cygnus. Cassiopeia. Hercules, home of your precious Messier 13. Libra. Ursas, major and minor. Planets currently visible are Mercury, Jupiter, Mars, Venus, and Saturn.” Castiel recited all of these mechanically, pointing each out with barely a thought and less of an effort. Dean didn’t so much process the constellations as he did the growl of Castiel’s voice flowing over him, and the graceful movements of his hands. 

Dean stared slack-jawed. “Cas, where the hell did you learn to do that?” 

“Not so much hell, because it’s a product of my painfully religious father’s obsession with the night sky, but… home.” 

“Religious nuts? With an affinity for astronomy?” _Really, Cas?_ Dean thought, but said nothing of the sort. 

“Mhm,” Castiel elaborated. 

Dean waited for a follow-up that never came. “Uh, Cas?” He questioned, gently prodding the other man in the coat-adorned side.

“Hmm? Oh. Sorry, I let conversations die a lot. My ‘people skills’ are ‘rusty,’” he said, accentuating with air quotes. 

“Oh.” No other response seemed appropriate to Dean, though this remained insufficient. “Why the stars?” He finally added, desperate to keep the conversation going. 

“Haven’t you noticed my namesake, Dean? Thought it’d be obvious,” Castiel commented. 

Dean hesitated, confused, before his limited religious knowledge kicked in. “Of course. Cassiel, angel of Thursday.” 

“We’re all named after angels, my siblings and me. We were told the stars were our home, and to get as close as possible. That’s why I’m an astronomical imager. Why, for you?” 

Dean froze cold, uncertain of how to answer. “To prove them wrong,” he finally whispered. ”To prove everyone wrong.”

“Oh.”

Castiel left it there. 

He moved several minutes of silence and breathing later, turning his head to one side to study the man before him. 

“Damn, Cas, you like the view? Also, it’s friggin’ freezing up here. How do you stay out this late in this weather? And I can’t see anything, anyways.” Dean wasn’t lying, he was cold, though Castiel’s scrutiny was what was really making him uncomfortable. He was unnerved by the sense that the other man was staring, watching over him though he couldn’t see him in the inky blackness of the night. 

“Let your eyes adjust, Dean. Here, look at mine,” he said, before pulling out a tiny flashlight. “My eyes are really dilated,” he explained. “It helps.”

“I can’t exactly focus on the stars when it’s friggin’ freezing out here,” Dean whined, chafing his hands up and down his arms in a futile attempt to warm back up. The night chill in the mountains was much more pronounced than he originally expected, and thus the light jackets and flannels he’s brought were insufficient. 

“Would you like to borrow my coat?” Castiel asked, already shrugging his arms out of the sleeves. He wore a navy suit coat under, one that matched his blue tie. He handed it over to Dean, who settled it neatly over himself and breathed in the clear scent left on the coat. Castiel smelled like pines and cedarwood, with an underlying note of something cold and sharp, like metal. It was still warm from his use, and Dean sighed in appreciation. 

“Thanks, Cas,” he murmured, and the other man slid closer.

“You’re an astrophysicist, Dean,” Castiel said, more an admission of fact than anything. Dean hummed his agreement. 

“Why don’t you know the constellations, then? They’re good for, uh,” Castiel started, but paused as no practical function of the knowledge came to him. “They’re not really good for anything, but it’s nice to know.”

“Can you show me some?” Dean asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Of course,” Castiel agreed, and moved closer still. He rested his hand on Dean’s left shoulder, and its warmth against his cold skin felt like a brand, burning his handprint onto him permanently. “You know where Polaris is?” Castiel checked, and Dean shook his head as an admission. “You… you don’t know Polaris? The North Star?” Castiel asked again, astonishment showing through his voice. 

“Never looked at the stars, Cas,” Dean mumbled, cheeks blushing deep red with the statement. “Was never allowed to.” 

“Oh.” Castiel didn’t mention the subject again, instead wrapping his arm behind Dean to turn his head. “The bright one’s Polaris, and the six stars near it make the Little Dipper. Ursa Minor,” he continued, turning Dean’s shoulder, “Is the real name for that one.” He took hold of Dean’s wrist, pointing one finger up towards the bright star. The other man leaned in closer, towards Castiel’s warmth. He chuckled softly. 

“What time is it?” Castiel wondered, voice rumbling deep in his chest. Dean stirred, pulling his watch hand out. 

“Little after midnight,” he whispered, after peering at the dial for several seconds. 

“All my nebulae have set for the night,” Castiel complained, “and I have to stay here longer now.” 

“Means more time with the equipment, though,” Dean commented.

_More time with you,_ Castiel thought. He’d grown abnormally fond of this man in the three encounters they’d had. He turned his head to gaze back up at the stars, watching as wisps of cloud skipped across the sky with the cool night winds. The last he remembered was the warmth of Dean, tucked under his coat next to him, pressed in close to his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAHH! Bonding over stars. (The Voltron fan in me is screaming, "We had a bonding moment! I cradled you in my arms!") Was it intentional to fall asleep in each other's arms, or will they regret it in the morning? 
> 
> Comments make me happy, and kudos make me smile. Happy authors write more words, it's proven. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
